Repetitions
by fulsiastrum
Summary: AU. 2063 AD. Welcome to Old Earth. While escorting a team of scientists during a routine mission for research on the virus that decimated mankind, Quinn and her team discover a relic that makes her question a cure decades in the making and her own past. Faberry in post-apocalyptic space.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Glee, just letting the kids run wild.

**A/N: **The idea for this fic had been dancing around in my head since last year until I eventually started writing again to see what would come of it, and this universe just kind of took off on its own. It's not as plotted as **TPS **is, but it's been quite a freeing experience so far. I do know where I'd like it to go, but I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I do as it comes to life! It _is_ an ensemble fic (I do like having them together), but this will be entirely in Quinn and Rachel's respective points of view.**  
**

Also, I do apologize for any scientific inaccuracies.

* * *

**Prologue**

...

_"But better die than live mechanically a life that is a repetition of repetitions." - D.H. Lawrence_

_..._

_Just close your eyes_, she tells her. _Let's make our own fiction_.

_A story where it is just us, as we used to be._

The girl nods weakly, then shakes violently as she coughs. Hazel eyes look up at her, perhaps for the last time.

She takes a deep breath and holds the perspiring hands, squeezing them and bringing one up to cradle the visor of her suit's biological gas mask as their eyes watch each other from opposite sides of it.

There is nothing she can do but be there, now.

_Do you think we were meant to look up at the stars?_ the girl asks with a dim smile.

She laughs though she is sad and says, _Yes_.

_Will you see them?_

_Yes_, she promises, though she is looking down at her universe. She begins to tell the girl about spring.

They reminisce about that time in April when the girl came to visit from Yale, finally fulfilling her end of their promise consisting of train passes, keeping in touch, and the distance between New York and Connecticut. They talked amongst the flourishing green of Central Park as she told her about her decision to switch to Biological Sciences and grad school, and the girl told her about Neruda and his poems, and about one that began with _I want you to know one thing_ and ended with _as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine_. And that night they slept together for the first time with talk of more promises and sleepovers, and the distance between New York and Connecticut by I-95, until it was winter and they walked on ice.

It was winter now and the ice was cracking.

The trembling hands bring hers down to cheeks, burning red enough to melt snow. But it is not enough right now.

_Will I die?_ the girl asks plainly.

_Yes_, she answers.

The girl breathes peacefully and says, _Spring will come next year though_, as the hazel eyes close.

_Yes_, she finally repeats. It is but a whisper.

She breathes back the oncoming tears as she runs her gloved fingers through the girl's blonde hair. She checks the vitals on the side of the bed, then gets up to press stop on the video camera. The recording light turns off.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

...

This is Old Earth. It's a frigid bitch six days of the week and tyrannically hot the remaining. It's this extreme shift in climates that accounts for a listless land of sandstone and boulders covered by ice sheets, like quick pulses of interglacials in an infinite ice age where it never rains or snows, and whose only season is misery.

Littered among the tundra one can see the remnants of what used to be structures of a once-civilized world. They lay exposed to the abrasions of wind and dust and seared with the sun at the same time, but still they remain - reminders of decades that were as vividly tortuous as when one accidentally unlatches his oxy-helmet and breathes in the air and bleeds his last a few hours later.

The virus is still there. Lingering. Waiting to take the rest of them.

The only things left alive were the plants because they still have _toti-potency _- scientific bullshit that they throw around and expect one to know because it was relevant to their times, but she never listened in interspace biology.

She heard it in every mission briefing on her visual dash before setting foot on the wretched planet though, so maybe she _should_ know it by now. Like one can take a plant cell to make a whole new plant - which human cells lose the ability to do earlier on - and that's why plants were still out there because the virus wasn't as fast as the regeneration in some plants. But all she hears is "total potential" and she laughs with wry because if she were a plant she'd just commit _a-pop-tosis _because she sure as hell didn't see any potential out there. One day the virus _will_ be fast enough.

It was fast enough for _her_.

She could remember brown eyes staring into her own hazel before closing their last after a fit of desolate coughs. The girl was fine just 4 hours ago. Now she was so clogged with phlegm that they didn't even sound like coughs because no air could get through.

Lungs that couldn't breathe.

She knew what it felt like because hers never breathed the same after that.

No medicine, no science could quell the ache with each deep breath. Some specialists said gastroesophageal reflux disease perhaps (because of the anxiety and post-trauma of her profession), or "GERD" for short. What a silly acronym. They probably came up with that because they go _ermahGERD _with each painful stab in the chest. It should just be called "heartstab" instead of "heartburn". Damned doctors. And then they sent her to the station's psychiatrist after her team members joked around that maybe it _was_ the heart and she just sat there staring blankly into space (literally) on the space bridge even after Lucy the intercom bot announced dinner, her favorite. A depression caused by "heartache" instead of a heartburn. She did admit, maybe it was a little bit of both.

She sighed and a tried to inhale deeply through her oxy-helmet. She grunted at the slight sting that never went away despite the regimen of proton pump inhibitors and trials of anti-depressants and psychotropic drugs. She even went to therapy. But nothing worked. The only thing that made her forget was going back into the fray.

Ironic that she was now deployed under the Chief Science Officer's (CSO) department on exploratory missions, hunting for biological specimens "for research". Hah, the top graduate in _Tau_ class of the Intergalactic Space Union's (ISU) special operations military unit working as the bodyguard of the people manning the subject of the universe's failures. She couldn't stoop any lower. They were trained for bigger things, and one failed mission many years ago shouldn't punish them from being able to do their real jobs forever.

A series of bleeps drew her attention back from the bleak plains and to her oxy-helmet's dash. Coordinates scrolled by her visual field with scout descriptions, concluding with "unidentified heat sources". She pulled up her dash's horizon graphs but couldn't see the recon's location beyond the loping glacial hills.

A figure in the _Tau_ Ops specialized nanotech G suit, carrying a collapsable heat laser submachine gun, bounded nimbly towards her, blonde hair in a ponytail whipping back and forth. A female voice transmitted through her earpiece.

"Open eyes, Q."

Quick reflexes caught a silver-white rock in her hands. It glistened as she turned it around, her helmet scanners denoting the metal; stronger and rarer than titanium, and the most corrosion-resistant metal known to man.

"Iridium," she announced. She looked up to see a quirky smile and flitting blue eyes.

"Yep. Sam found it over that hill," her companion pointed towards the horizon.

"Space pirates," she muttered over the radiocom.

Iridium, usually found in Old Earth's core prior to the pandemic, became a frequent sighting on the surface due to the climactic changes afterwards until almost all were mined and used in pre-ISU ship and suit-making, as it allowed the remaining nomads to withstand the harsh temperatures that would encase the sphere once a week. Now it could only be found on the black market, hoarded by the pirates who smuggled it. Nanotech G suits had replaced the iridium ones but they were inconceivably expensive, thus relegating Old Earth explorations to Union government-issued teams.

Space piracy was an impediment to the ISU's recon efforts to gather the remaining human population on space stations while looking for a cure to the virally-infected atmosphere. And space pirates meant trouble - heat lasers had difficulty penetrating iridium suits. They could basically do whatever they want.

It would be nice not to be burned to a crisp sometimes. She wondered if they had a solution to heartburn.

"Where's Sam?" she continued.

"Trying to paint them on our scanners, but they got some music jamming our systems. We need to get these _scires_ outta here, Cap."

"Copy that. When are we supposed to Charlie on Mom?"

"In 1000 hours."

"So the _scires_ are expecting 0200 hours left of exploring." She sighed and grunted, "They might already be barbecue by then."

She gazed down her vantage point where field scientists were huddled over battered plantlife cracking through the spots where the mesa lay uncovered, drowning in their science and oblivious to the dangers of their surroundings. _Psh_.

She started down the slope, hollering back, "Call the bird in, Britt! I'll get 'em moving."

...

They were deliberately trying to ruin her mission.

"There, there, Captain. We won't be long!" one assured.

"Just trying to dig out this delicate little beauty!" another said.

She peered down at their excavation. It was a weed.

_Fucking hell._ All this for a piece of weed. She thought back to historical connotations of weeds and snorted. This little guy peeping out of the ass cracks of earth was nothing like the _Cannabis_ once considered in a certain era to be "God's gift to the world that brings peace when used wisely". But she figured if the weed of legends was considered to bring peace, maybe this one could - who knows? She was no scientist.

Then again, it didn't take a scientist to know that their delicate little specimen's roots were quite a length below the current dig's status. It would take the old scires fifty years at their pace, possibly more because they'd probably go _ooh_ and _ahh_ after every inch - and then maybe cradle some rock debris in their bosoms while they were at it. _Tau _Ops would have to take matters into their own hands, as usual. Special ops turned hoe-digging-gardeners. Sure, just give her fertilizer and she'd be set in shit. She subdued her irritation and switched to her team's radiocom frequency.

"_Tau_ three, come in. Over."

Silence.

She did a recon scan over the horizon… _unidentified heat sources_.

"_Tau_ three, come in. Over," she tried again.

_Buzzzz_. "_Tau_ three. What's up, Q? Over."

"Where the hell are you, Sam?" She began to trek the icy incline. "If you can't override the music, move back to _Alpha_ checkpoint, we need to dig and haul. Over."

_Buzzzz. _"Copy, Q. Let me just—" _Pewww-pew-booshhhh. _A flurry of sediment dust and steam splashed into the air over the hill.

"SAM!" she yelled into her mic. _Fuck._

She turned to the scientists, now frozen and staring wide-eyed at the blast. "Get down!" _Buzzzz. _"_Tau _two, come in! Over."

Another beaming sound then more exploding sediments. _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Her earpiece buzzed, "_Tau_ two here. Saw the blast, heading to _Alpha_ checkpoint. Radioed the Explorer - T minus 10 minutes! Over."

"_Tau_ one, copy. Thanks, Britt. Dig and haul at _Alpha_, I'm going in to find Sam. Over."

She turned back to her charges. "Stay down, ladies and gents! As you might suspect, we are under fire. If you don't, you can come with me over that hill."

They cowered around the weed. She sighed and continued, "It's alright. Ship's coming in early for us so please just sit tight! Lieutenant Pierce will be escorting you back to the Explorer."

"What about the specimen, Captain?"

Oh yes. The weed. "Lieutenant Pierce will help you extract the w— er, the specimen." Another explosion created a fountain of steam in the distance. She hoped to Forefather that he was alright.

"Okay, stay down!" she directed one more time before rushing off towards the hill.

...

"_Tau_ three, come in! Over." she repeated as she scrambled up the ice crags.

Radio silence.

"Come on, Sam! Come in! Over…" she rolled over the tip and unfolded the grip to her heat pistol, only to feel her side being crushed as she flew to the right and behind an outcrop.

_Booshhhh. _The ground she had been on was turned into a mini crater, the desert sediment flying into the air, the ice steaming off from blazon lava. The remnants of a very big heat laser's target.

She gasped at a hand on her shoulder.

"Q!" he breathed. The voice matched with messy dirty-blonde hair, just how he liked it - no matter how many times she'd tell him to comb the fluff and stop using the lemon juice because he looked like a porcupine suspended in a fishbowl in his oxy-helmet. Green eyes just a little more vibrant than her own hazel.

"Sam, you motherfucker!" she pulled him into a hug, the faces of their helmets tapping. "Don't pull that radio-silence stunt again, and that's an order!"

He pulled away laughing, "Geez. Copy that, I was just trying to fix radar."

Blasts continued to sear behind them as he interlinked their visual dashboards.

"What's going on out there, is it pirates? Bird's coming in less than 10."

Data scrolled through her dash, ending with an image of an aerospace cruiser with iridium plating.

"Looks like it," he concurred.

"How soon until they get here?" she looked up at him.

He bunched his lips together and answered, "2 minutes?"

_Pewww-pew-booshhhh. _They grabbed their weapons and faced the outcrop.

"You beaded up?" he grinned.

"Hah. Maybe if you didn't try so hard to get incinerated," she smiled back. "But it's just your standard Old Earth mission, Sam."

"Well, I did try at least, didn't I?" he laughed. Sometimes he was still that little boy that managed to fall into the station's confined space pool, almost drowning, because he wanted to play with the astro trout, and then played it off with that silly wide-smile of his after being pulled out with a trout latched onto his mouth, causing his lips to swell and forever dubbing him as "trouty mouth" among all the station kids.

But she did kind of like beating up the ones who'd bully him for his weird ideas. Like the lemon juice. She wondered if he used it again today.

He noticed the scrunch in her forehead. "Stop, Q. You're so overprotective you forget that sometimes you need saving too." He laughed and pointed to the mini crater, "Like just now."

And maybe that's why he followed her all the way into _Tau_ Ops - to be as tough as her or to return the favor. Still, her mother's voice reverberated in her head, _Take care of Sam. It's just going to be the two of you in the end when we're gone_. And after coughing up blood, she said, _There's only two of you. Take care of Sam_. And she was gone.

"Shut up. What if something happened to you?" she grumbled.

"You're such a sap, sis. Tree sap."

She whacked his helmet as he chuckled before they resumed scanning the ice dunes.

"The _scires_ okay back there?" he motioned.

"Brittany's taking care of it." She looked over the outcrop and sighted the cruiser. She gripped her laser pistol. "You ready?" she grinned.

"Oh yeah. Pirate ship with plates that we can't laser through? What's not to love?"

...

They jumped over the outcrop and spread to get an angled view into the exposed thrusters, the ship's achilles heel. Lasers blasted both ways and hot dust swirled around them, but the iridium ship flew by unscathed and towards the dig site.

"Dammit!" _Buzzzz. _"_Tau_ two, come in! Bandits at 12 o'clock, over," she yelled.

_Buzzzz_. "_Tau_ two, copy that. Still digging! Over."

Still? "Copy. Providing cover fire, over."

They hurtled over the ridge and slid down the hill slope to a scene of mini craters surrounding the dig site and a cloud of steam that hovered just beneath the hawk circle of the iridium ship. Two scientists, possibly braver or dumber than the rest, were in the open with her lieutenant, uncovering the stubborn plant. The rest were crouched behind parts of buildings long gone jutting out of the ground.

She ran towards the excavation and shooed the scientists to cover. "What's the Explorer's status?" she called out over the din.

"A couple of minutes, Cap," Brittany replied from the drill. One might think they were unearthing a fossil. But then again, plants had mutated from their humble beginnings as innocent little vegetables to survive in this atmosphere, their roots reaching deep into the earth and several times longer than what you see from above, like what one would expect from an iceberg.

She pointed her pistol at the ground, "We need to hurry up."

"Captain! What in spaces are you doing—" a scientist scurried out as she blasted the surrounding rock. "That is Intergalactic Space Union research material!" he continued, before falling over as the land shuddered with the deafening hum of thrusters.

All looked up to see the hull of the Explorer descending, its automatic lasers firing overhead.

"_Tau_ one, Explorer 2.0 is in loading position, do you copy? Over," she heard through her earpiece.

"Copy, loud and clear! Nice to hear from you, Mike," she smiled, spotting the Asian sergeant in the cockpit as he waved. "Britt, take 'em to the bay!" she ordered. "And here you go, doctor."

The fallen scientist stood to receive the front end of the specimen, the rest hurried to help encase and carry it towards the ship. She ran to the outer rim of the dig site to help Sam with cover fire, but not before slightly tripping and rolling to a position behind a block of rusting metal.

She was about to lock on and shoot when something shiny caught her eye. It was what had tripped her, but it wasn't a rock and it wasn't showing up on her scanners. She crawled over and tried to dig out the object.

_Buzzzz_. It was from Sam. "Q, all _scires_ are on board. Let's evac, over."

She grunted as she dusted out the side of what looked like a box. There were markings on it.

_Lima Labs, Inc._

"Go on ahead! I have your six, over," she transmitted.

Why she was sitting out there, allowing herself to be in danger of being barbecued and being drawn to a shabby-looking little box that probably held centuries worth of mutated beans, blew her mind. She then remembered a girl with brown eyes who loved ancient Roman history so much she even borrowed a young female soldier's heat laser so she could engrave her station door's threshold with the word _Lima_, some obscure Roman deity involved in birth cycles. It was the day they first met.

It might've been that.

"Cap, come in. Bird's taking fire, we gotta move. Over," Mike called on the radiocom.

She finished unearthing the box and tucked it like a football before starting her dash to the aerospace ship's open bay. She'll just say it was for science.

...

"Glad to have you onboard, Captain!"

"Splendid job!"

"It was absolutely exquisi—" _Vrooooooshhhh._ And that was the end of all the scientists.

Or their praises at least.

As Explorer 2.0 banked it was hit with a volley of heat lasers on the starboard side, shaking the hull and causing people and plants alike to roll to port.

"Britt! Get these people strapped in!" she shouted over the thruster bursts, holding on to a cargo belt. "Mike! What's our status?"

The pilot's hands darted around his touch controls like a game of speed chess, his fingers playing a symphony of radars and systems data. Mike was precise, like a science. His parents had wanted him to go into intergalactic politics or become CSO of a space station, just like them. But he decided he wanted to fly instead. Good thing too because he was probably the smartest guy ever to graduate _Tau_ Ops, and she definitely could use brains around here that she could trust.

Don't get her wrong - Mike was a beast with a heat laser - but seeing as how he could dogfight in his sleep and had also double-majored in engineering and navigation, he was pretty much their best candidate for maintaining and flying their ship's ass out of any situation.

"Thrusters are good. 2 bandits off to our 3… Aaand I've got 4 missiles ready for you to play with, Cap," he recited, eyes trained on his dash.

She noticed a light grin on his features. She had forgotten that ISU explorer ships still carried a few stores of old missile technology as a last resort if fuel was too low for generating lasers. He had realized they would work against iridium heat-laser-protected armor and knew that she'd enjoy the fight.

His eyes glanced up in check and she smiled. "You know what to do."

"You got it, Q."

The ship circled to stare down the oncoming threat.

"Sam, get on weps!" she ordered.

"Captain, you do know this IS NOT A WAR SHIP?"

"All set, Cap," chimed Brittany.

She looked back at the hold where her lieutenant was securing the last belts on their charges. They were all looking towards the cockpit's view with pale faces, their feet dangling from the pull-down seats.

"There, there, ladies and gents!" she soothed.

"Lock and loaded, Q!" Sam called out.

She threw hand signals to the team and continued, "We're taking down the pirate ships so we don't experience any more turbulence on our trip back to station, do you copy? So hang tight, everyone!"

"But I don't mind turbulence, Captai— wauuhhh!" And with that they honed in on the first iridium ship and fired.

"Fox one is a miss!" Sam reported.

"Incoming lasers, hold on!" Mike yelled, as the ship banked left.

"Oh dear—"

"My, my."

"Good heavens..!"

The lasers seared past them. She slammed into the side of the hull along with Brittany as the explorer regained horizon. Sam fired again, "Fox two!"

_Booshhhh!_ An explosion in the sky.

"Bogey 1 down! Woohoo!" Sam hooted.

She pushed herself up. "Take 'em down, boys!"

"Aye aye, Cap," Mike nodded.

The second iridium ship proved a pesky little bitch, however, and dished from left to right, evading missile lock. Sam fired the third missile, exploding it in the air a ways off from the hovering craft as it taunted them with laser blasts.

"Dammit, one missile left," he gritted.

She slid towards the gun-deck as they took hits that thundered against the hull. "I got this, Sam!"

"Lieutenant, will we get out of this alive?" blurted a scire.

Brittany smiled from the floor and said, "Yes."

"I have to use the lavatory, Captain!"

"In a while, _please_," she urged as she switched on manual missile control. This was no time to take a shit.

_Beep beep beeeep._

"What's that?"

"My, my."

"I need to use the lavatory..!"

"Q, we can't take anymore fire!" Mike yelled.

"Copy! Just a little more…" She locked her sight onto enemy thrusters and fired. "Fox one!"

_Booshhhh!_

Explosions and cheers erupted simultaneously. She rolled back into the hull and unlatched her oxy-helmet, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "You may now use the lavatories…" she added.

"Exquisite shooting, Captain!"

"Splendid flying!"

"Climbing to zero gravity," Mike quipped.

There was a sense of relief among her charges as they unlatched their oxy-helmets. She caught grins from Sam and Brittany as they manned their in-flight positions. The intercom buzzed.

"Good afternoon, this is your pilot speaking. ETA to McKinley Space Station in 0800 hours. I hope you have a pleasant trip aboard Explorer 2.0, we do enjoy your business."

...

A rusted box was placed on her lap.

"You sending this in to the labs?" Brittany asked as she sidled down next to her.

"Probably the mutated beans, yes," she joked. Maybe she'll keep the box.

She tweaked her head around the sides and found a latch. The top opened automatically with a rasp. Cradled in black fiber cushioning was not a delicate little bean, but a clunky video panel that screamed ancient.

"Vintage," she noted with a smirk. She flipped it over and opened the back compartment. "Battery's fried, but there's a memory chip."

"What do you think is on it?"

She shrugged. "Classic home movies?" she answered, looking up just in time to see them break atmosphere. She closed the box and traced her fingers on the markings. "We'll give it to CSO to check out."

Brittany smiled, gazing out into space. "It'll be good to be back home, Q."

Home.

Now that this contract was done, maybe she'd ask to be assigned to a different department. The others would most probably follow suit. Shuttling scientists and having to deal with their petty qualms on a planet that life had given up on was not for them. At least they could start over.

She sighed and grunted at the twitch in her side, but managed to return the cheer. "Copy that. Good thing we won't be going back to Old Earth any time soon."

What she didn't realize then was that things would not be allowed to settle.

Because this is Space. There is no gravity.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

...

McKinley Space Station. Home.

For now, at least, because humans weren't meant to live out there. It said so in interspace biology—_whoa._

She sat up on her swivel and ran a hand through short blonde hair, rustling her head. She had to get a grip. No way that textbook was going to be her bible.

But yet, there it was. One of the oldest editions, still on video panel. It was given to her along with some of the girl's other possessions when she passed. Video panels on ancient Rome, star nurseries, cryo… Those brown eyes really loved boring over the old stuff. None of that visual dashboard technology, even though one had to carry around video panels like real books - and those had been abandoned decades ago on Old Earth.

Funny, there were no other kin to bequeath the materials to. Kind of morbid _she_ ended up actually using them. Maybe it was for the girl's memory? They were classmates after all.

Her ribs ached. They were more than that.

She switched off the panel and cast it aside on her desk. Her eyes fluttered to the rusty box where it slid next to, and she remembered the clunky old panel they had found within. They had submitted it to the CSO, to work with Engineering and see if there was anything worthwhile on it. No doubt Mike would be helping out.

She turned back to her dashboard, calling it on. "Quinn Fabray."

A series of beeps set an overture to a flood of figures, graphs, and buttons that lit up the glass screen and knobs of her workstation.

_Hello, Quinn _appeared in light across the glass. Her eyelids quivered and her pulse slightly quickened.

She reached across to a shelf and grabbed her pills, spinning the cap off and shaking one into her mouth. She gulped it down and breathed. She thought of all the people who she wanted to hear those words from, but they were all gone. And then she thought about how pathetic she was. Having to go through this every time she needed to log on and get anything done was becoming a travesty.

The doctors said to stay away from stressors and triggers. The methods they suggested didn't seem that difficult. Like, donate the video panels to the archives. Don't drink out of your father's favorite shot glass he'd whip out every holiday, buy a new one. Don't take care of Sam. Yeah, right. No.

Then there was that one time she bought a new freezer for the family's station quarters because her mother's old freezer had finally broken down. So she carried it out with Mike's help because it was quite big, but by the time the weekly incinerator came by to pick up the trash, she started pushing it back in like a maniac, almost breaking it - leaving Mike so confused because… it was already broken.

She had become what she feared most: a hoarder.

If only her grandmother could see her now. She could even go on that new reality show, Space Hoarders. Grams would be so proud, rest her soul.

Her home screen was set to play a slideshow on the top right, like a suspended picture frame. The current photo showed her and Sam as toddlers with a younger Grams. Her mother always did say she looked like Grams. Grams liked the old stuff too. Well, she _was _old, after all. She also liked plants.

As it changed to another family photo, and then another, she finally figured that this was a heinous idea. It was becoming impossible to escape the past. Whatever she needed to get rid off was being trapped inside her but she'd lost the key a long, long time ago. She reached out hesitantly, then with vigor, as she took off the frame for good. Doctor's orders.

She sat for a moment, waiting for that feeling of regret to scold her for sending Grams & Co. into the archives. Nothing. The medicine must be working this time. She took a breath and resumed her initial purpose. She pulled up her search tool and typed in _Lima Labs, Inc._

When she thought about it, she didn't really know why she was interested. Maybe she just wanted to believe in science again.

...

Her stationcom was set a little too loud. "Q! OPEN UPPP!"

She jerked in alarm and nearly tilted off her swivel. She quickly shut down her work and scampered to her station door. It slid open to reveal Brittany decked out in their dark blue dress uniform, the collar showing her lieutenant stripes.

She rubbed her ears. "Why were you yelling?"

"I wasn't yelling," replied the blonde, blinking at her. She then tilted her head and clasped her hands in front.

Sometimes Quinn didn't know what to make of Brittany. At times she seemed like a toddler who, in innocent inquisitiveness, would run over an astro-hopper with a wheel to deduce what color they were on the inside (this is a true story), other times she just _knew_ when your food tray would slip out of your hands and spill before it even happened. She was adept at anticipating what was needed in a certain situation and was the most thorough partner Quinn had ever worked with.

"Oh," Quinn shook her head. "Come in. What's up?"

Brittany strolled in and, after a 360 survey of her quarters, immediately zip-lined to her room.

"What are you doing— hey!" Quinn followed to find her closet being raided. A set of dress blues were quickly pulled out and laid on her bunk, boots placed directly under where the trousers fell. Brittany marched over and handed her her captain stripes.

She stared at the blonde who finally sat herself at checkpoint sofa. Brittany just stared back.

After a moment of recognition, "We have general assembly today, Q," she added.

Quinn arched an eyebrow and roamed her eyes around the room, scrunching her forehead. She looked up and turned to her message wall.

_Interspace Conference with the President_.

"Ack!" she slapped her forehead and ran a hand down her face. "How could I forget? What time—"

"In 30 minutes. I told Mike to save us seats and get Sam." Her lieutenant was also possibly the best secretary in the galaxy. "Did you eat?" Brittany continued, walking off towards the kitchen.

Dammit, she forgot that too. "Uhh. No— but, please, Britt, you don't have to," she called out, fumbling with the buttons on her jacket.

Brittany turned around and smiled. "Who else will, Cap?"

Most of all, she concluded - Brittany cared, even if she never said so. And she kept them all together.

She sat at the counter and pinned on her stripes. "Hey, um, Britt?"

"Yep?"

"Thanks."

...

They made it just in time for the Commander's introduction. His naturally brown complexion was ruddied with makeup that he looked almost clown-like. They didn't know if he was assigned a new makeup artist just for this conference, or if he specifically chose this look. He was strict and efficient when it came to business, but he also did what he could to alleviate tensions surrounding difficult events throughout his tenure - so one never really knew. But he was a good man, Commander Figgins.

This enough was evident with the loud fanfare that accompanied his walk towards the podium. The conference stage was wide. The hall itself was about the size of a soccer pitch and had a vaulted atrium that made them feel like ants. The entire stage wall encased a glass screen that normally served as an observation window into Space, but could double as a video display for a large theater - a capability shared by most observation decks onboard.

Quinn had time to scan the hall and noticed the presence of her team of scientists near the front. Strange. They were all usually too involved in their laboratories to attend these types of conferences. She was pretty sure the President's annual speech about the viral problem was a rehash of previous years, word for word. Even the President herself was probably sick of it.

The Commander raised his hand for silence and the applause cut right on cue.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of McKinley Space Station. We are here tonight, not only to participate in the Presidential Conference along with the other stations in the Intergalactic Space Union, but also to recognize the accomplishments of our recent exploratory team of scientists who have been able to acquire another component from the vestiges of Old Earth that, we hope, can be used in the ever elusive challenge towards a cure for the Seaborg virus."

An ovation was given as the scientists were led onstage to be acknowledged. Figgins continued, "This would…"

She felt Brittany tapping her arm, "Cap."

"What?"

"Just remember to say 'thank you'."

"What—" Her eyes widened as Brittany quietly pointed to the stage. She turned to finish hearing the Commander's speech.

"…not have been possible without the _Tau_ Ops mission team aboard the ship Explorer 2.0 under the leadership of Captain Quinn Fabray."

Sam and Mike were already working their way out of the row. If she had known she would've skipped breakfast and done her hair. Or better yet - not go at all. Now she'd have to say thank you in front of the entire station looking like an animated mop.

She let herself be ushered towards the stage with the team and mentally slapped herself after catching a glimpse of "the walking mop", as she now dubbed herself, on the video display. She tried so hard not to look psychotic when the biggest smile she'd ever mustered manifested itself on her face as she shook hands with the Commander, his glaring - was it lipstick? - almost breaking her composure. She also begged herself not to fidget as they stood on stage like prisoners dreading execution in front of a clapping audience. They then gave her a commemorative plaque. Bad decision, gents.

She glanced down the line. Sam looked slightly constipated and didn't make eye contact. Mike's eyes were intense like he was trying to focus on something without prescription glasses. Brittany just widened her eyes and gave a light nod. _They knew._

She drew a large breath before stepping forward. Step 1: smile. Step 2: wave. Wait. Maybe that was only for pageants. Oh Forefather, they gave her a mic-chip. She could feel the walking mop come to life on the gigantic screen behind her. What if they asked her about her perfect date for an Old Earth invasion? She had to beat them to the punch.

"THANK YOU," boomed the hall.

Silence.

She did _not_ mean for it to come out like a belch.

But there it was, and even Commander Figgins almost tumbled over. He straightened and wiped his jacket down. "Well, then. There you have it! Captain uh… Quinn Fabray of _Tau_ Ops."

She always did manage a grand exit.

...

"Q! Where were you?"

She looked up to see Mike rounding the corner of the space dock. When he saw her sitting on the floor against the wall, he paused for moment, then calmly sat down beside her.

She had been looking out the window panes into the dock hold where the escape shuttles were lined up. The last time they were used was years ago during the station epidemic that wiped out half the people in the Achernar wing. Some reckless upstart in the military had stumbled in sick from an Old Earth mission and wasn't quarantined on time. The ones they could evacuate camped out in the other wings, the rest caught in quarantine and, well, _contained_ in those shuttles. Like canned goods that sat waiting for their expiration date so you could throw them out. Then when time passed and the sickness was controlled, those shuttles were sent out into infinity like hospital beds wheeled towards the morgue, coming back like clean beds with new sheets, as if nothing happened. Now they laid in the hold like dusty trinkets in a museum.

She sighed. "What."

He pursed his lips. "You okay?"

She rustled her head and let out a chuckle. "Yeah. Just. Never been good at that, y'know?"

"Heh. It wasn't that bad, Q. You've gotten better." He grinned, "Remember that time you just opened your mouth in front of class—"

"—And nothing came out?" she laughed. "I knew what to say too but I was so embarrassed I blanked out," she ducked her head in her hands. "You had to give me the answer in sign language. With an actual sign."

They chuckled together a bit more. Mike shook his head, his features bright when he turned to her. "And all it took was time passing. And some practice."

"And I could utter 'thank you'," she smiled. She stretched her shoulders and relaxed. "So what'd you run around all hurried for?"

"You didn't get to hear the President's speech," he smirked.

She eyed him and lifted an eyebrow. "_That's_ why you came looking for me?"

"Not exactly," he seceded. "But, uh, Tina called. They figured out how to make the memory chip on that video panel work and wanted you to come check it out when they play it."

Now it was her turn to smirk. "Are you sure you don't just want me along as your wingman?"

He snorted, "Yeah right." There was a slight tinge on his face as he stood up. "And for your information, _Captain_, the President actually tried not to use the same exact words. There were some new ones."

She gave him a little shove as she got up. "Smartass."

He chuckled as they headed towards the labs. "Besides," he continued, lending his arm for hers to loop through. "I'm _your_ wingman."

...

Upon entering the McKinley science laboratory, one would think it was just an elevated loft where a couple of scientists would be seen attending their workstations and jarred specimens down a wavy countertop that had fluorescent lighting along its sides and overlooked a spanning observation deck. But this was only a microcosm of one of the biggest scientific strongholds in the ISU; one that led the research into Seaborg - _the_ virus, as it was known to all what was left of humanity when the ravaged escapees of Old Earth sought haven in outer space, preempting the the jump of civilization before it had the capability to colonize another life-sustaining planet.

Progress had not reached that far. Ships and satellites were not that fast yet. A lot of research was lost in the fray. A lot of great minds were lost. A lot of _everything_ was lost. There was no other hope for new life but to find a cure that would enable humans to stay long enough on the old planet to rebuild. And it had to be soon. Space stations could only grow so much at this point.

But Quinn had to admit that that's where the folks at McKinley Science shined. The quirky scires, along with the talents of the Engineering department, had helped reconstruct the stations of today from rest stops to full-fledged colonial cities with wings that were like sectors where there were neighborhoods and station homes and families. They had even been able to recreate fertilized soil for growing crops and temporary environments for raising livestock. Those all came from stem cell research of samples from Old Earth however, since even she knew it was probably ridiculous back in the day to send a cow into the universe. The poor little dudes had failed to reach the altitude for true space flight.

She followed Mike down the entrance loft where she could appreciate the immensity of the deck, the tallest onboard. They passed scires along the length of it, littered around at workstations; white coats and spectacles working on insect and plant specimens, discussing amongst themselves, or boring silently and endlessly over their portable dashboard charts. Naturally, she and Mike stood out in their dress blues and were saluted as they passed by, along with some cheerful greetings from those overdosed on happy juice.

Mike stopped her in front of the observation window. "Tina and the Professor are probably in Seaborg. Wait here, Cap."

"Copy." She'd never been inside the classified labs where they worked on the cure. Probably for the best. 50 years and they were still doing a piss-poor job in that aspect.

She strolled over to where a few scires were looking out the height of the observation window, twice that of the conference hall. Some were contemplating the data on glass wall panels that bordered both its sides and featured maps and doppler radar weather reports of certain planets, the orbital trajectory, solar wavelengths and frequencies, graphs, meters, and a whole bunch of other information that she did not have the patience to understand.

She ended up in the middle and felt quite small against the view. All around her was the horizon of Old Earth's sphere. Above it the silhouette of the moon. Beyond it, the glare of sun. It was like flying. But she knew it was more like being suspended in a mid-air detention where one had to do homework for eternity before ever being able to return home.

And she would remember that half-day in school when her and Sam were kept in the principal's office because they were too young to go home by themselves and their parents forgot to pick them up until hours later when they got off from work. She hated them then because she wanted to spend the extra free time reading through her new video panels on historic zoology, with all the interesting facts on the fastest bird or the most dangerous frog. She'd never seen them because they've been extinct.

And then she would remember the quarantine where they were kept in the military wing because they were too valuable to go home and their parents couldn't pick them up because they were dying. And she would wonder if her parents forgot back then because she forgot to remind them it was half-day, and then she would hate herself for thinking it was their fault and for being selfish and for liking zoology.

"Hello, Captain."

She stepped back from the window, her reflection off the glass coming into focus and spreading to include the three figures behind her.

"Professor," she greeted, turning around to shake hands with the uniformed scientist in the hover chair. His large blue eyes often reminded her of a child gazing at some new discovery in wonderment, magnified by the spectacles propped on the bridge of his nose. And it gave him an aura of the profound. Like after 50 years, it was still worth it to keep going, offsetting the part of him that would never move. She wondered why none of the other scires seemed to generate this much respect, but she was thankful that out of all of them, it would be the Chief Science Officer of McKinley Science that had hers.

"None for me?" grinned Tina, dressed in the same dark green uniform of the station's non-military officers.

"For the CSO and none for the Chief Medical Officer who's saved our asses from incineration countless times?" she joked, walking up to McKinley's doctor onboard to shake her hand. "Never."

"Don't swear, Cap," Mike added sheepishly, glancing at Tina. Quinn shared a look with the Professor. Tina laughed.

"Please. I've seen _all_ of your behinds in—"

"_Don't_ remind me, Teens…" Mike groaned.

She clamped her mouth and gave him a reassuring smile before turning back to Quinn. "It's okay, Q."

She always did say that to her. Quinn believed in Dr. Tina Cohen-Chang the most out of all of the doctors they paraded her through. Not just because her best friend liked her, but because she was the one who applied the skin grafts to heal the burns from Quinn's fleshy laser wounds. And not only that but she knew about what burned Quinn on the inside. And she was the only one who - though no one could figure out how to make it all better yet - would admit that that's okay. _It's okay, Q_, to be here now, like this. It's not over. And she was thankful again that out of all of them, it would be the Chief Medical Officer of McKinley space station.

"You ready to see this?" Tina continued.

She nodded, "Sure. You didn't have to invite us for the viewing though, we've submitted it to—"

"It's no problem, Captain. You were the one who found it and we're glad to have you here," said the Professor, passing the memory chip to Mike, who brought it around to the main video display's workstation.

Tina took out a mic-chip. "Shall we make the announcement, Artie?"

"Oh yes, please. Everyone would be thrilled if we were able to find a remnant we could learn from. If not, we could always use a break for some entertainment," he chuckled.

The intercom buzzed down the length of the deck. "Ladies and gentlemen of McKinley Science, this is the CMO on behalf of the CSO and the Seaborg unit. We will be viewing a new relic that was recently discovered on the Explorer 2.0 mission into Old Earth. It is a playback of the contents of an antiquated video panel possibly linked to the efforts of an earth lab. Attention please to the main display. Thank you."

"Ready to go, Professor!" Mike called out.

The hover chair whirred next to her as the Professor gave her a glass remote. "It's only fitting you do the honors."

...

She pressed play.

There was static. Some beeps. A flicker of a scene came into focus then wiped to static again. She looked at the others. More scires had joined them down on the observation deck like ants in front of a widescreen TV. Mike was fiddling with the knobs of the workstation along with someone from Engineering.

A buzz resounded on the speakers. The video flickered and then shook to a scene of smoke, camouflaged soldiers scrambling about and hunkering behind tanks, and a date stamp found only in history lessons.

The audio blared out in choppy bursts of gunfire, shouts, and explosions. Then silence, as the screen turned to black.

After a few seconds, the video rattled through a corridor with dimly lit sterile walls before panning around into some sort of facility with what looked like people lying in beds in glass chambers. The view plummeted to the floor as muffled cries mixed with a clattering.

The sideways shot across the seamless vinyl flooring showed half of someone slumped against the side of a chamber. His arm was swollen and covered in rashes as he flailed it towards the camera, moving him into full view. Blood was seeping through his face mask where his mouth would be and he was crying red tears, his chest heaving rapidly as he coughed and moaned.

The scene shifted up again and swung around, delving deeper into the facility. More indistinct yells. It zoomed in rapidly on the man against the glass, a few seconds too late; now just a motionless conglomeration of flesh and gore.

Soon it became a panorama of dizzying proportions, spinning and zooming in and out of continuous shots of rooms and chambers of distended, bloodied, maggot-swarmed remnants of what used to be humans, laying in all sorts of contorted positions on beds and over desks, next to papers and flasks and incubators and microscopes and machines.

Quinn almost shut her eyes because her head hurt.

But then she saw them. A pair of eyes.

They were brown, exactly like the ones she used to know.

And they belonged to a face that had flickered on screen, framed within the video like a photo on an ID card as the camera stilled. Long brown hair falling over a white lab coat, the ends curving in waves. Quinn was transfixed. She even had the same prominent nose that would be innocently griped over in the solace of their private conversations, but which Quinn found endearing.

How was this possible? It couldn't be, this video was five decades old.

She moved towards the screen, the image encompassing her that her own reflection gazed back, staring in wonder at brown eyes that fluttered as the woman spoke with distress.

"This is Dr. Rachel Berry and I need your help."


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks to all who have shown interest in this fic so far! I was worried about how it'd work out (and I'm sure someone's probably asking the same thing), but we'll be exploring it in the sci-fi sense. =) Hello to Perry and that dear anon. It's very motivating to hear, and I hope to answer some more of your questions here. The premise for this story came about when watching the movie Déjà Vu with Denzel Washington, in the scene where he's in front of this theater-sized screen watching this video from the past for the first time. It got me wondering _what if the one person you'd finally like to give your whole heart to exists only on a video screen?_ and thought it was interesting. O_o

Some things that could prove confusing... This chapter starts off in Rachel's POV, and the story actually takes place in two different timelines; one in the past (Rachel), the other in the present (Quinn). They are both in their late 20s in their respective times (hi, President Raggy ;), so no elderly Faberry as of now, unfortunately, hehe. Feel free to send any other questions, thoughts, or comments you may have. Happy summer! =)

* * *

**Chapter 3**

...

Reassortment.

That was the word they used to explain it. A high-frequency exchange of genes that caused the segmented genome of the influenza virus to mix with segments of the Hantavirus, giving birth to the worst possible love-child in the history of viral-dom.

Originally termed the Hantaswine strain - because they had hoped it would be contained within the initially susceptible rodent and swine populations - it became known to people of science as the Seaborg virus; named after the man who discovered plutonium, the deadliest element and component of the last atomic bomb. Everyone was thinking it would be a nuclear war that would finally send the earth back into an ice age. Little did they know that it was the smallest of organisms that could wipe the atmosphere clean as it spread through the air like a massive residual nuclear cloud, with itself as the lone winner.

She could see it though. The moment she read that top-secret advisory from the World Health Organization of a small outbreak in Southeast Asia, she already feared what was to come. It had been contained, but it would only take a densely ambitious fool to mess with their current efforts in producing a vaccine to change the viral genome and spread it even faster to the human population. One infected person in New York City was a walking 10-foot viral cloud. Spread that to a good enough number of pedestrians that walk through the airport and you'd have a global medical emergency. There is no acquired immunity. Half the people who get it would die.

As the chief scientist of Lima Labs, she wouldn't let that happen. She had to be very careful.

And that was precisely the reason why she was going through the trouble of recording her own research onto video journals that were encoded into microchips with Kurt's help, and trusted only to him, as the director of Lima Labs communications systems, to keep somewhere unknown to her. Just in case.

No one would ever know besides the two of them.

"Doc! Results are in!"

Make that _three_.

She quickly logged out of her account, silently wishing that she could just tell it to shut off without having to click around like a maniac. She swung out of her chair and smoothed her lab coat before reaching out to receive the folder from the newest member of their super secret plan to _not_ take over the world.

Blaine Anderson, PhD was over-earnest and overeager. And she always had a problem with all the gel he'd put in his hair because it sometimes reflected light onto her computer screen every time he peered over on visits. To others it probably wouldn't be an issue, but she admitted her OCD gave her the weakness of perfectionism. Every time she missed a word because of Blaine's gel reflections, she'd feel the need to start reading the paragraph all over again - after shooing him away first, of course.

But _he always came back_.

With that big fat smile on his face.

He was quite smart and good at what he did, however, which was what irritated her the most. It wasn't long after he started at Lima that he became head of Cryonics. It felt slightly threatening to her because it took her a few years to get to where she was. He did mean well though, so it also made her feel bad the most. Maybe that's why she was letting him in on it. Maybe it was the fact that he would always make it a point to bring her her latte, exactly how she liked it, and helped out in her department when he wasn't even her secretary or assistant. Fishy.

She rummaged through the documents, glancing back and forth between them and Anderson. That smile again.

Did he _like_ her?

He was a little _too_ neat for her taste. She resumed scanning the laboratory values and conclusive reports. They were _signed by him_.

Was he sucking up to her because he wanted to take over as chief scientist?

She had to admit, he was quite efficient with the work. It soothed her OCD. The genomic profile... She focused on it, her eyes widening. It was perfect.

It was a perfect disaster.

"Dr. Anderson!" she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am?" he jolted to attention, swallowing the smile off his face.

She closed the folder and looked him in eye. "Has anyone else seen these reports?"

"No one. Except me."

She inhaled deeply and gazed off in the distance. "You should have told me—"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought I'd just bring in the daily results since it was on my way and—"

She whirled abruptly and planted the folder on her desk, and stood there in silence.

He continued, "And I saw them, and… I thought I'd keep it private. Considering the situation. I'm sorry, Dr. Berry."

He really did mean well. She took out the genomic profile and turned to him.

"And you did the right thing. If this gets in the wrong hands…"

"I understand, Doc," he nodded with a whisper. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets in an awkward fashion, his face grave.

She began to consider him as more like a puppy.

"Well then. Let's get to work, Blaine."

"Sorry?" he looked up, startled.

She grabbed the papers and began walking towards the chemistry lab. She was going to have to trust him with all of the research now, she had no other choice. If he ended up doing something off on his own, things could go wrong. She was the chief scientist because _she_ was the best at what she did. And if he was second best, then working with him would just strengthen their operation. And who knows? Maybe she'd learn a little something from the head of Cryonics.

"We're going to create the perfect vaccine," she answered.

For Rachel Berry had just discovered the viral strain that could save - or end - mankind.

...

She didn't know when she started filming things. Growing up, she wanted to be in front of the camera, not behind it. She wanted to be a star. Now it seems like all she wanted to do was look up at them. They were beautiful when one took the time to appreciate what was around their world.

And come to think of it, she had always grown up appreciating beautiful things as well. The blonde had always been beautiful to her.

It must have been when her chorale group went on these missions to bring song and cheer to the sick. They had visited this one medical center in a very poor area and she had helped with the video recording of a little documentary they were planning to make for their efforts in outreach. The white walls were dirty with age and the paint was breaking off. The indigenous sick were crammed onto fading plastic chairs, crowding the hallways. Children were coughing and playing on the floor in oversized hand-me-down t-shirts with their skinny arms poking out of the sleeves. Walking through the gauntlet of carelessly contained germs, she'd felt like she was on a mission to get sick herself.

And yet when she replayed the video of when they sang in the ward, amidst the old and frail, she could see the light in their eyes as they grinned; mouths with just a few spare teeth left, but cheeks crinkled in glee. They were so joyful in such a mess. They could still see the beautiful where she saw none. And she wanted to feel that too. She wanted to do more. And along the way, she would catch the beauty of the little things on her video camera.

That was probably why she was still there, standing on the sidewalk of what used to be one of the busiest intersections in the city. She would love watching the thousands of people that passed by outside her old lunch stop where she would grab her daily vegan noodles before heading off to the library to do more research. She was there just a month ago, contemplating the spread of an experiment gone wrong.

Today, the intersection was empty. Two balloons, pink and purple tied together at their ends like a helical dumbbell, drifted past her on the sidewalk with a cold wind, memories of the gentle energy of life and good judgement leaving with it.

She was the only one left there. This world was dying. And now that the blonde was gone, so was her world.

She looked up at the evening sky as she had promised, and she saw them.

_There is still the universe_.

She still had the camera and the stars were still beautiful.

...

It had spread quickly, just as she had seen, though not where she had first thought it would occur. Somehow, the twisted version of the vaccine they had tried so hard to forge had unleashed itself in Europe, an influenza-hemorrhagic-like illness outbreak in urban areas of Greece. It had mutated to a deadlier, faster form, setting off a chain reaction; London to Madrid to Paris, sweeping through the Middle East and Asia before finally coming home. The prodigal unwanted son. And no one could stop him from bringing the Red Death.

The only barrier was a biological suit with a well-fitted gas mask, and no one had 7 billion of those ready to hand out. No one could even tell if the virus was wafting in the air around them. It was like carbon monoxide; colorless, odorless, and tasteless - but without a detector that could beep in the night.

And so they died. Wretched fevers and flu-like symptoms. Sharp, gutting pains in the stomach as if someone was knifing your insides in front of you. Kidney failure leading to swelling in the body's cavities until you spill blood and lose your breath forever. Edgar Allen Poe's fiction come to life, with a cough or sneeze to begin its kiss of death. And it only took _hours_. A pandemic of epic proportions.

Her instincts had always been good. She hated that sometimes. She hated knowing too much.

_Not enough_, she thought. There was still no vaccine.

They were not able to properly disseminate the one that was working on their test subjects. The military had intervened too early. World War III had erupted, they said. It was outrageous, there was no world left to go to war with. They should be out trying to save the remaining population. Instead, what was left of human power was outside trying to blow up anything that would go near the lab "with the weapon and the cure".

They put the word "weapon" first.

They were going to destroy everything she had worked for. Everything she had promised. Everything that could make it right again.

She had to do something. There had to be more than this.

She unhooked her video camera from her computer. She needed to go through with her plan.

...

"Kurt!"

He spun around from his desk of displays and buttons and gadgets, his cheeks red and his eyes swollen, but not from the sickness. His tears were clear.

"New York City is gone, Rachel," he whispered.

She lowered her head. "We're going to have to go through with it," she announced quietly.

He heaved a sigh. "Are you sure?"

She looked at him in silent resilience.

He continued, "There are still space shuttles left. We can go up there. Start over."

"We don't have enough time. We need earth stuff to finish this, you know that—"

"We can come back to earth later, Rachel - when this is all sorted out!"

"When will that be, Kurt?" she cried. "I mean, look around outside! If their masks protect them from Seaborg, soon enough the bombs will get them. And by that time they might destroy all the materials we need."

He stilled, and she knew she was right. And she knew he'd never argue with her when she went on one of her passionate rampages. One, she was Rachel Berry and she was usually right. Two, she had always been the leader and the MVP. Three, she was Rachel Berry.

They used to bicker extravagantly in their younger days, competing with one another, but as he grew older, he understood the calm in silence. He also understood her. He had been in the same chorale group. And he too went from in front of the camera - to fashion, to PR - to finally ending up in communications because he realized he wanted people to stay in touch through the distances of life. They'd been through almost everything together, and this last project would be no exception. And that's why she loved him like a brother.

"When this is done, I want you to go ahead," she directed, unfolding a microchip from her palm and meeting his gaze. "I _will_ follow, Kurt."

He looked at the chip in her hand. The backup plan.

"You know, we were so busy trying to figure out whether or not we could, we didn't spend enough time thinking about if we should," he posited.

She watched him take the chip and turn back to his computers.

"It's not our fault," she replied, standing beside him as he connected the chip and opened the files. Their research filtered through the displays.

"Then the rest of the world seems pretty awful…" he muttered, as a 3D image of the viral genome spun around, taunting them on one of the screens.

"No."

He looked up at her, and her eyes glistened.

"The world is still beautiful, Kurt. You remember all those disaster films we'd go see? In every one of them, the good always outnumbered the bad. And even if they don't, there is always one. And they always win. Even in the news, you see people running to help in those times when you think everything has gone to shit - forgive my language - but the point is… that's why we're doing this. Even if it's just us, there's still a chance for everyone else."

"Rachel, that sounds valiant and all that jazz, but my computers work with percentages and odds ratios and… Our odds don't look that beautiful right now. More like a… black hole of zero," he reported. "And you don't like black holes. They eat stars."

She blinked and stared at him numbly. "I _will_ walk away now, Kurt Hummel."

"No no nooo! Rachel, wait!" he pulled her back. She crossed her arms and grumbled with poise.

He smiled. "I'm sorry. _Doc_, please. Okay. So you're saying that… the hope of mankind rests with us little people."

"Yes," she turned back to the displays. "Just think of us as the hobbits in Tolkien's stories. As Gandalf said, 'All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness.'"

"We don't have a Gandalf."

"Yes, but we do have the cure."

He sat pensive for a moment before glancing up at her. "Then I want to be Frodo. I don't find Sam attractive."

"So you're saying that… you find yourself attractive?"

"Of course."

...

She watched the night sky and waited for a shooting star.

It would mean Kurt and the rest of them were off into space; the last remaining shuttles in NASA's escape earth mission, for brighter futures in the galaxy. She knew there were no nearby planets that would support human life yet, but it would be safer up there. For now.

She shivered underneath layers of clothing insulated in her bio-suit. Her temperature readings were off the charts in the negative direction. Something was happening in the atmosphere and it was unprecedented. Ozone holes were tearing throughout the stratosphere. All the chemicals and gases expended in the recent warfare and launching of space rockets from the various space agencies around the world were proving too much at once. Another reason to leave earth.

It was too fast to even fathom though. Did the virus have anything to do with it? She knew it was there, scattering with the winds she saw carrying dust and dead leaves off the withering trees, the flapping she felt against the folds of her bio-suit.

Thinking about it made her sad and panicked at the same time. She would never be able to breathe fresh air any more. She would walk around in a mask as long as she was on earth. For the first time in her life, she understood how a fish possibly felt in a fishbowl. Yet another reason to leave.

As her thoughts flurried with the wind, she realized she had all these reasons to be sitting alongside everyone on those NASA shuttles - so why was she still hanging around like a fish in a fishbowl?

Well, first off, the only way out for that fish would be to jump out of that bowl. And she had no intention of unzipping herself from her suit to say hello to Seaborg. She still had things to do.

She wondered why her pretty little blue betta decided to jump out of his bowl. She had left him food and fresh water, mixing in the dechlorinator chemical thing the guys at the pet store said to mix in whenever changing his water, and even cleaned out his designer rocks that he seemed to love. They complimented his color.

He was such a pretty fish, Paco. They would spend quality time together in front of the mirror everyday; him, fanning out his gills and fighting his reflection for exercise, and her, practicing her facial expressions while singing. Even though she had left performing arts school, she still loved to sing - and she was told she looked liked she was in pain every time she did, so she worked daily to look more angelic.

Then one day it all changed for Paco. She came back from a 2-day retreat in medical school to find an empty bowl. After thinking frantically about who could have taken her fish-friend, she finally accepted that he might possibly have jumped. She couldn't see anything on the floor at first. Then, she peered down at a dark piece of wood. Except it wasn't a piece of wood. To her horror, it was Paco; no longer pretty and blue, but dark brown and dried out like a curved piece of treebark. And she had almost stepped on him on her way in! It was the worst thing imaginable.

Poor Paco. She would always ask herself _why_?

She was asking herself again.

Then she realized she had one reason to stay. Just one.

It was the same reason she figured why her Dads' puppy, Bud, stayed. They had rescued him from the shelter when she was graduating high school (because they said they'd be lonely with their baby girl off to college and everything, tears, yes - they still came to visit every month), but because they were both out at work most of the time, poor Bud would be relegated to the laundry room. Every time she'd come home to visit, they would hear him start to bark as they pulled up into the driveway. He could smell them, and he grew to love her too, remembering her voice and her pet nickname for him when she'd visit him in the laundry room. He would ram his little head into her legs as she bent down to pet him, his stubby tail darting around happily.

She felt so sorry for him that her Dads finally agreed to give him to her Aunt Sally who owned a farm in Pennsylvania. There, he could run around with her aunt's other dogs. He'd have friends and freedom, and they'd still get to visit him on the way to New York. Unfortunately, Bud didn't seem to want the good life.

A few weeks later, Aunt Sally called telling them that Bud would try to run off the boundaries of the farm so they had to put an electric dog collar on him. Rachel was horrified. Even with the collar, they told her Bud would still try to escape, shocking himself so many times that it was too cruel. All because he just wanted to go home. To them. He'd rather wait all day in the laundry room to see _them_, than be anywhere else.

The memory of Bud always made her cry. Bud was loyal to them until the end.

And that was her reason. Rachel Berry was more like a puppy than a fish.

She had promised, and she would be loyal to it.

And she realized she had already said it. She still had things to do.

Just then, a flash of light shot across the sky. It didn't matter if it was Kurt's rocket or not, or even if it really was a shooting star. The universe had made its move. It was her turn now.

She walked back towards the labs.

And she found that it was in her office, surrounded by thick, air-tight glass - her fishbowl-laundry room, that she found a touch of safety and freedom. She could step out of her bio-suit and take off her mask.

She put on her lab coat, smoothing it down and fixing her hair - one could never be too ready, even at the end of times. She took her video camera and attached it to her computer.

She pressed record.

She took a deep breath.

"This is Dr. Rachel Berry and I need your help," she stated gravely. After a beat, "If you are watching this and have not yet found a solution to the Seaborg virus, my lab has a cure. Unfortunately, there are those out there who want to use the research for destruction and greed. That is why we have gone through the effort to disseminate our knowledge in this way."

She took a microchip from her desk and presented it to the camera.

"I, along with a small team that I have trusted with this research, have recorded our findings onto videos such as the one you are currently viewing, and encoded them into these microchips. I have divided them into 6 video logs. 2 are included into this one. The rest we have scattered in different places on earth in titanium boxes that should protect them for a good long while. Each found video log will have directions to the location of another."

She placed the chip down and took another breath. She looked up at the camera, really trying to see through to whoever might find it. She thought of the blonde, the only one she wanted to see more than anything right then. She remembered something she told her once.

_Words are so lovely sometimes, we forget that it's in the silence between them where we learn to see the world and each other._ _Like the spaces between seconds. That's where I'll think of you._

If she stood there in silence, would she come back to her? She searched the black space of the lens. She missed the girl's alto voice and the scrunch in her forehead. Maybe she was still somewhere out there. _The spaces between seconds._

It was insane. _This plan_ was insane.

Well. Everyone thought she had always been insane anyway. Can't let them down now.

She continued, "You might be asking yourself if I am telling the truth, or if this is just a load of bull. But I'm asking _you_… if you're still looking for a cure, then what have you got to lose?"

...

"Holy… shit."

She heard Mike's utterance and looked towards the Professor and Tina. Their faces were agape. A horde of spectacled heads turned towards their trio in front of the main workstation with a silent question. It seemed like an eternity where the only sound was her own heart's thudding that it frightened her enough to want everything to stop, but the only stop button was on the controller in her hand so she pressed it in reflex.

Tina was the first to move, glancing at her before exchanging looks with the Professor. "I mean…" she fumbled. "How— how do we know that this…"

The Professor gazed out towards the video screen. "We don't." He took a deep breath and looked up at Quinn, almost as if he was reading her mind. "But we can't stop now just because of the unknown."

She nodded as if she understood, but everything was still a blur. She tried her hardest not to look at the face on the screen.

"Captain, let's continue playing. Let's find out if this trail exists so we can figure out our next step," he said.

She couldn't escape it. She nodded again, this time with a "Yes, sir."

So she pressed play once more and history came to life. It wasn't black or white, or clunky or rusted. It was brown hair and brown eyes and a lovely shattered voice, and it was as real and vivid as her, if not more. It told her her own life was still playing and that it was her who had to catch up to it all.

And she realized, when they were giving her the instructions to rewind, fast forward, pause, and play, her fingers were alive and moving and taking action because _she_ had the controller in her hands. She could.

She still had the controller in her hands _and the stars were still beautiful_.

And when they finished, as the video faded and the display turned into the glass window of the observation deck, Quinn could see the distant luminous bodies of the universe through the transparent image of Rachel Berry's brown eyes; infinite, vast, incandescent, and beautiful. But she couldn't shake one thought off her mind.

The universe was nothing compared to her eyes.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thank you for the lovely reviews! I hope you continue to find the answers you're looking for. If not, feel free to ask here/tumblr. To _AeonUS_ and _fussyviolet_, thank you for your continued support.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

...

The Navigation department had pinpointed the supposed location of the following log. Rachel Berry had left them Old Earth coordinates and a riddle.

_Small among its kind of evergreen coffee_

_And that which calms erratic hearts,_

_It is Freud's favorite -_

_A green ribbon makes a lovely match_

_To that most beautiful_

The fuck.

And explorer missions were going to have to find this in Southeast Asia.

Coffee. Isn't that what they called the happy juice back in the day? And who was Freud? He sounded familiar. She should've listened more in class.

She ran through the video again. She was thankful that McKinley Science had given her a copy, although she wasn't sure if it would turn out to be a bad decision. It was most likely Tina who convinced the Professor to let her work with the logs. A plan for therapy, she was sure. However, she was afraid that the trust might also lead to her become more involved in this project than what she was ready for.

Rachel Berry's face frightened her. What happened to that "stay away from stressors" bullshit? Her face was enough to stress Quinn out for eternity. And judging from the looks on Mike and Tina's faces, they had known the resemblance was uncanny as well.

"This isn't funny, Tina Cohen-Chang," she muttered, shaking her head.

_We don't have a spare team to work on this new project, Quinn. One that we can trust right now with this information anyway, if it does prove to be delicate._

Those were the current trail of reasons as to why they were letting her and her team help with the planning. Or was it that none of them believed the decade-old talks of Dr. Berry and their own numerous research failures, and that this was more of "the plan for Captain Fabray" with her own team as the support group?

Why was everything so damn confusing? It was like she never knew anything anymore. Sam and Brittany warned of the iridium ship, Mike reminded her of the weakness of iridium-plating, Brittany had to remind her of the meeting and to eat food that didn't consist of stale space chips, Tina and Mike had to look out after her… And she knew the scires liked her the least out of the team and only praised her for letting them take a piss on the ship.

What did she know? To give commands. But she couldn't make them without help. So she should trust the help from her friends then, yes? Trust them and give herself the command to go through with it. Okay.

What else did she know? Manual missile control. To turn that little scout ship around, face those pirate-sons-of-bitches head on, and shoot them down. That's how she learned to win battles. That's how she gained her reputation for bravery.

So why was she scared?

She realized she had always known the answer, but just didn't want to admit it to herself. She hadn't been brave, she'd been running and hiding. Maybe she had to face these problems head on too.

She walked to her shelf and located a hologram plate between old video logs and a year's collection of dust. She reached out tentatively and tapped the edge of it. Slowly, she slid her finger down the top, sifting off dust particles. She wriggled her fingers, sending them off into the air, then, repeated the motions down the side. Her eyes watered. It wasn't from the dust. _Only when you're ready_, they would tell her.

Was she ready? She remembered knowing that if they didn't get that stupid plant out of the ground they'd be barbecue. No time to be _too _delicate. She had pointed the heat laser without a thought and blasted the dirt.

_I am ready_, she told herself.

She pulled the plate out, and it immediately lit up into a photo of Rachel Berry. Younger and slightly awkward looking.

What else did she know? That this wasn't Rachel Berry. Her name was… Did it matter? _Respect the sleepers. _But this Rachel. She seemed awake.

The station door slid open and she spun around.

"Sam!"

"Hi—"

He shuffled in, carrying several cases from Astrologie, her favorite store. She scrambled up to help him with a lift of the eyebrows.

"What's all this?"

"Shopping," he grinned.

"_You_… went shopping?" She crossed her arms over the stack on her bunk.

"What, like it's hard?" He crossed his arms in like fashion and gave an accomplished smile.

"Sam…"

He sighed. "Fine. Brittany helped pick them out."

"You didn't need to, I can put something together for ton—"

"Yes." He held her shoulder and looked her in the eye. She fell quiet. "We did."

"Alright," she mumbled, looking at the cases, opening one to reveal a light green dress. A small smile crept on her lips. She loved that color.

"We thought you'd like that one best," Sam added. "But try them all. I'm sure you'd look great with whatever you pick, sis."

She turned to him, the hugs on the corners of her mouth. This was step one. "Thanks."

He nodded and gave her a pat. "Please don't tell Mike I went shopping for dresses."

...

The McKinley Space Gala was not to be taken lightly. Dignitaries from different stations around the ISU would be in attendance. As an officer onboard, she was required to be present. Hopefully, she'd be left to herself this time.

She'd always managed to turn heads every year. Everyone seemed to be aware of her good looks, but it was a rare sight to see Captain Fabray in something other than her uniform. Creepy old men were not welcome.

She remembered her first gala. It was in conjunct with their special ops graduation where old and new officers were honored and students could mingle with other station classes. She had just received her award for graduating top of her class. Suddenly, all eyes were upon her, screaming as if they were lips instead of lids. The burden was unbearable. She stammered through the beginning of her speech, ultimately deciding to cut it short - much to her parents' chagrin. They had practiced all week. She felt responsible for shaming them. She had loathed public speaking ever since.

She decided to slink into a chair in the back of the ballroom. Then _she_ came along.

A pink dress, a simple smile. And they sat there in silence.

That's when she knew the girl would be special. Because she didn't jump at the chance to say _get to know me I'm fabulous_ like everyone else she had met earlier that night. Somehow, in her silence, she let Quinn have a chance to get to know herself first. To find herself around this person, until she was comfortable enough to break the silence. To speak again.

And speak she did.

"You probably saw. The disaster," she muttered softly.

The girl turned and gave her a glimpse of the softest brown eyes she had ever seen. "I thought it was brave."

Quinn blinked. "Brave?"

"To make a decision like that." She laughed and looked down. "I usually talk _too_ much and sometimes it gets me into a lot more trouble than I would've if I had just shut up."

Quinn found the blush in her cheeks charming. She pressed on. "Well, I'm definitely going to be in trouble for shutting up too early this time."

"Still," the girl reasoned. "You shouldn't force yourself to feel the whole weight of something that you couldn't have helped."

Quinn nodded. The visage in front of her was fascinating. She shook her head out of distraction.

"So… where are you from?"

"Harbinger. I'm transferring here to finish my masters," the girl quipped, pushing back brown hair from her forehead.

"Masters? On what?"

"Ancient history."

"History… why?"

Brown hair edged closer over the banquet table. A sweet voice spoke delicately, "You'll probably think me odd. I barely even know you."

"Oh. Um." She extended her hand. "I'm Quinn."

The brunette gave a tight-lipped grin as their hands met for the first time. Her eyes twinkled. "Hello, Quinn."

She stood up. Quinn furrowed her brows in bemusement. The pink dress twirled, the background of the observatory window reflecting its pirouette among the distant lights of space. A view of forever.

Quinn gazed up. The girl extended her hand and chuckled with a quiver of the nerves.

"Would you like to dance around the stars with me?"

...

"Quinn Fabray."

"Quinn Fabray needs to hurry up getting dressed," Brittany called out from the doorway.

She waved her away and turned back to the light appearing across the glass. _Hello, Quinn_.

She sighed. She missed those eyes.

The hologram plate laid face-down on her desk. She reached out to it.

"What is that?"

She looked up to see her lieutenant, already in her black slip.

"What is what?"

"_That_."

Her gaze shifted to the plate under her hand.

"Oh, this." She flipped it around, lighting it up. Her forehead creased. She pursed her mouth and faced her friend. "It's just a picture."

"It's a powered heat laser, Cap."

A deep inhale. Wide smile and twinkling eyes faded as the light flickered off.

A quiet voice. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

She gazed blankly at the words on her screen. "I think the universe hates me."

She grunted and started towards her closet. Brittany helped her into the waves of green.

"Maybe it's just trying to tell you something?"

A wry smile formed on her features. "We're finally progressing in terms of research, into the big problems—rebuilding, and—even that new dashboard device I saw at the lab that lets people visualize their dreams?"

She swiped the plate off the desk and shoved it back into its shelf, collapsing back on the sofa to her frustrating shoe straps.

"And my problems are small and insignificant compared to the situation out there… but I still miss—"

She squeezed her face with a hand. A gentle touch fell on her shoulder.

"…So much it hurts," she whispered against the strain in her throat. "And _the universe_ is not letting me get over it."

"Maybe you're not meant to get over it…"

Her glance was met with whimsical eyes. "Was that you questioning, or you knowing?" she asked.

Brittany shrugged. "There's always a possibility."

A snort. "Funny. That's how they advertised that dream visualizer device. I should get one, maybe it'll help me sleep."

But what she really meant was that she had hidden from the memories that hurt and haunted her dreams until she had forgotten. The expedition on Old Earth had begun to trigger flashbacks to seep through the cracks she hoarded open; the ones she couldn't let go of, lest she forget forever. Now she realized she _wanted_ to remember.

She had become curious with the coincidental occurrences of the past few days. She had already entertained the gist of what Brittany had suggested, but had been wary of accepting it. Today had been a day of teetering the boundaries of readiness to leap into her own darkness.

The offer snapped her out of the mental inquisition.

"You ready, Q?"

She took a deep breath and searched her reflection in the mirror. Her own smile. Step two.

"Yes. I think I finally am."

...

The conference hall had been transformed into a miniature city of reverie. Hover lights at specific points in the air illuminated like the night sky that continued out through the wide observation deck, the eternal expanse of space as their backdrop. Transposable glass screens emitted words that danced aloft, with facts or profiles on the different VIPs and schools present, or previews of the upcoming events in that evening's program. Banquet tables were dressed as fine as the company; transposable glass denoting the menu, lights strewn into the silk coverings and centerpieces.

Their table was right by the ballroom floor. Patrons in fine frocks and debonair jackets spun to Viennese waltzes, as continuous, as rhythmic as a clock in counterstrike. Others littered the boundaries in self-possessed stances, sipping in pulses from cocktail glasses.

She hated everything about it.

Until the orchestra crescendoed into the grand opening of Tchaikovsky's _Opus 66_ - regaling her with the dream of a time when she had truly pondered the splendor of the waltz as one of humanity's finest creations.

The girl had pulled her into a trot towards the dance floor. The blasts of the trumpets and trombones, the dizzying strings had frightened her. The adrenaline filled her to the toes. Then - wonderful, beautiful brown eyes amidst the blur.

She stumbled into the small frame. A giggle.

"I'm sorry, I haven't—" she floundered.

"Put your hand on me."

She gaped. "What..?"

The girl smiled. "Your right hand. On my shoulder blade."

Her touch grazed the smooth skin.

"Closer, Quinn."

She pressed them nearer, until it was intimate enough to make her swallow thickly at the fragrance radiating from her hair. It didn't help when the brunette trickled her fingers down her wrist, gently tapping her other hand up, fingers sliding and clasping together in the air beside them.

She wasn't sure if it was her lack of functional brain processes since the girl knocked the consciousness out of her, or the thrill of their bodies touching, but her movements executed an autopilot of coordinated confidence. She led them onwards as the violins and cellos took over in a scintillating melody, flying them among the clouds.

Velvet breaths floated to her ears. "You know this is called the Sleeping Beauty Waltz?"

She angled her head slightly. "Oh? Like that antiquated hand-drawn film?"

The girl nodded. "They used this melody in that song when she first meets the prince."

"Really? Thought this was just classical music."

Quinn didn't understand how the light chuckle that responded could be so very lovely.

"I love that song," the girl continued, sighing into her shoulder.

She inhaled a plea to quiet her bounding heart and leaned down to feel the smooth hair against her cheek. "How did it go?" she murmured.

An enchanting voice began to whisper in tune to the music. "I know you… I walked with you once upon a dream…"

Yes. She could get used to this. This waltz.

_I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam._

"Captain Quinn Fabray!"

She rustled out of the dream.

A well-groomed man appeared in front of her, his smile as dashing as the features of his countenance. She noticed the stars on his collar.

"Sir," she stood and saluted.

Commander Figgins had also walked up. He patted the man's shoulder. "Captain, this is General Luke Lawson of _Theta_ Ops."

He offered his hand. She accepted it tentatively.

"I've heard a lot about you," he grinned. He didn't let go.

"Well! I'll leave you two to get to know one another. A pleasure, General. Captain…" Figgins nodded as he continued to the next table.

She tried her best smile as she withdrew from his grasp. She hoped it didn't look as sarcastic as she had been told. "So. _Theta_ Ops, General."

"Please. Call me Luke," he replied, following in her motion to sit. "Yes, we're the special forces onboard Harbinger Space Station."

_Fuck me_, she thought. As handsome as the man was, she had sent out her disgust to the universe itself.

Harbinger.

Was there anything worse than a sign of a sign? The dream had suddenly turned into a nightmare.

"Are you alright?"

She turned back to him and blinked her eyes into composure. "Yes, sir."

She could not control them. Her eyes went darting around the hall, looking for something - _someone_ - familiar.

"You're probably wondering why the sudden interest."

_No shit_. She stared back blankly. "Perhaps."

He smiled. "We received word about your most recent missions on Old Earth, especially your success against space pirates - with an explorer ship, no less. It was quite impressive."

She returned a blunt smile and resumed her scan across the room. She caught Mike's eyes. The look on her face was enough. He walked over.

Something brushed her hand. "I have a proposition for you, Captain."

She stiffened in her seat and leaned away. "Yes, General?"

"Please. Luke."

She mulled her lip. "Yes, Luke."

He paused as the orchestra transitioned into Ravel, then seemed to change his thoughts. He looked up at her. "Would you like to dance, Captain?"

She pulled away as politely as she could. "I'm sorry, General." She stood. "Pleasure to meet you."

He rose in response to her departure. She caught Mike planting himself between them from the corner of her eye, distracting the officer into a conversation as she hurried away. The rise of Ravel's _La valse_ culminating the night of romantic classical inflection to distort into the chaos of dancing with one's demons.

...

They ran out into the corridors, glass panes surrounding them with glimpses of space that had seem to come alive. They rounded a corner and caught their breaths, laughing. She peered back.

"Anyone?"

She turned back to the eyes that had lingered on her all night. "No," she grinned. "We're clear."

The brunette stifled a giggle. "I can't believe you did that!"

"I was trying to protect your honor," she quipped.

"By trying to get demoted on your first day and lose your 'wings'?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "How do you know about my 'wings'?" she smirked.

The girl offered a coy smile. "I know a lot more than you might think, Lieutenant."

Her lashes flew unabashedly. Normally, she would've let herself succumb to her lack of being able to find the right words, but for this girl, she'd search her neurons tirelessly for the ones that would make her stay. Such was the magic of her presence.

Quinn likened it to the stars. Little luminous entities that, for one night, she was able to stand in the magnificent light of, making her forget the eternal night of the universe she had grown up in. In her head, she understood it as something like that. But in real life, she was no poet. (She fought it anyhow.)

"Well… it was just a heat laser. I'm sure the academy can afford to get a senior officer a new one." _No, that wasn't very romantic_, she thought.

The girl's brows creased. "What about new pants? You burned a big hole."

"Yes, well. Now he'll understand what you mean when you say 'no' and he doesn't comply." She was bounding through her synapses now. "Even though… I feel like you shouldn't give up any offer to dance, because you're… very good—at it."

It was a pitiful effort. The brunette, however, did not seem to mind. Their eyes continued to chase each other in silence.

"Would you like to… dance again?" she blurted.

A soft smile. "I'm afraid it's getting late…"

"Oh. Okay." She twirled the laser pen in her hand, wondering how to accept reality after tonight.

"Escort me back to station?"

Her heart awoke.

"Okay."

...

"Can I borrow that heat laser?" she smirked.

Quinn looked at her like the silliest adorable thing. "Do you know how to use it? Only those in the forces are allowed to handle these."

"Apparently, not _everyone_ in the forces knows how to handle these," she teased.

Quinn grumbled. The girl smiled affectedly. "Teach me."

"What do you want to do?"

"You know how I told you I liked history?"

'Like' was not the word Quinn would have chosen. She stood at the threshold of the station door, staring at the engraved letters L-I-M-A on the metal.

"You're obsessed."

Brown hair whirled back. An expressive mouth. "Oh, shut it. I wanted something to mark my new home."

She laughed. Ridiculous. "Why?"

A slightly tanned face beamed under the fluorescence. "Because Quinn. A threshold is like… the start of something new."

Ridiculous and nerdy and passionate.

"That was deep."

A smack.

"Ow!"

"Be nice."

"I am nice!"

The girl held back a grin.

"What?"

A shimmer of teeth. "I can't argue with that."

Quinn couldn't help but smile back. "Can I come in now?"

"No."

She gaped, then closed her mouth. She tilted her chin up. "Well, I guess I'll just have to be on my—"

She was pulled in.

Arms tangled. The door slid shut. The glint of starlight reflecting off the first eyes that ever really saw her.

So this is what they meant, when they talked about poetry. It was better than dancing.

Her chest was beating uncontrollably, the molecules in her synapses now careening past the speed limit. Their breaths mingled in the cool air. She could feel their skins blending into one another. A waltz of the atoms.

A hand slid up behind her nape to caress the delicate spot behind her ear. She leaned her head down. _Closer, Quinn._

Lips tangled. They pushed against the wall. Fingers wreathed in brown hair. Her breath, her smell - she was drowning in the stars and she didn't want to let go. Yes, she was no poet, but she knew this, and it was the most wonderful thing she had ever felt. Like waking up to life.

A new surge washed steadily upwards. She brushed past tan ears, pressing lips down against the warmth of a neck. A tremble.

"Quinn…" The rush was overtaking her. Too soon.

She moved back to meet her voice. "Yeah?"

"Mm."

She kissed her gently. The space between them made her realize how much brilliance the girl had given her in one night. How was she real?

The girl stirred in their embrace. "I think I'm going to like it here," she murmured softly.

Quinn inhaled deeply. It wasn't enough to fill her like before. Tiny hands sifted through her hair.

"Anything you'd like in return?"

She gazed down. "For the… um…?" she quizzed, biting her lip.

A breathy laugh. "For letting me use your heat laser."

"Oh."

Quinn's mouth hung open with her thoughts. She wanted to breathe her in. This girl had managed to trap the oxygen she needed within her atmosphere, and the only way to feel whole again was to share the same air.

"Just…" her throat ached. "Still be here tomorrow?"

"McKinley?"

"Yes."

A secret smile.

"I'll meet you tomorrow," the girl whispered, before breathing life back into her once more.

...

Her station door locked behind her. She crumbled onto her bunk, a lovely, broken swirl of malachite green. Upset - not because of the hammers against the crevices of her memories, because she had accepted it - but for shying away from the walloping. She was tougher than that.

If she could dance in her dreams, she could dance through the nightmares. The third step. She would try again tomorrow.

For now, she'd dream. Maybe she should've just gone to bed, but the music…

The orchestra continued into a melodic waltz, an endearing song of the violins.

"Oh! I like this song too!"

She couldn't help but laugh.

The girl ducked her head. "It's a problem, it seems… I like everything too much."

Quinn followed her eyes until they fixed on her. "Tell me about this one."

A blush. "It's about a white flower."

"Oh, you like flowers too?"

"Shut up."

"But you do?"

"…I do."

"Tell me."

They continued gliding amidst the others on the floor. She noticed nothing else, only the girl in her arms. The brown eyes wandered in their musings.

"Well. I know of one that I would give you tonight - with a green ribbon wrapped around it perhaps," she finally answered.

"A green ribbon?"

"To match your eyes."

"I take it you like them too…"

The brunette clasped her lips before letting out a nervous chuckle. "They're very beautiful."

She swallowed the foolish grin that had swept through her face. "Um, why tonight?" she endeavored.

"Because you're beautiful tonight."

…

She sighed herself awake. Her eyes fluttered.

_I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam._

She spurred to her stationcom and waited for an answer.

The voice that had helped with her therapy, currently groggy but still pleasant, buzzed through. "What is it, Quinn? Are you okay?"

"Tina, I know what it means! The riddle—I know what we're looking for!"

"Huh? Wha…"

"It's a Gardenia."


End file.
